


War + Peace

by susiephalange



Category: Divergent - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amity Faction, Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Healing, Love Confessions, Minor Violence, Pre-Book/Movie 1: Divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: She lives a life tending to fields, and befriending the Dauntless guards who watch the wall she works near. One guard, a newly-minted Dauntless leader, does not want to befriend her. Until he gets shot, that is.





	1. (I)

**Author's Note:**

> I've worked on this for the past week or so. I love villains, or really, anti-heroes whose motives differentiate to those of the protagonist, and Eric is no exception to the rule. Anyways, here's a self indulgent story about my favorite dynamic, a Amity/Dauntless pairing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-series.

You had chosen to stay with Amity. It was something you felt within your heart when you were sixteen years old. Too young to look at boys, and feel attraction, too old to look at friends and see anything more than potential. Your family of healers had praised you, and covered you with love and affection, and you began working on a farm just outside the boarder of the township. While you toiled the earth to sow the farmland for crops for all the factions, your curiosity grew alongside your body.

Days turned to months, when you heard your childhood friends who had transferred to Dauntless had become accepted to the faction. Months turned to years when you met a man from that faction, yourself. All the stories you had heard about them did not lie – they were brash, rude, loud. Hard, strong, unforgiving. While your body was decorated in hand-painted clay beaded necklaces, made by your mother, theirs were with needles and permanent things. You were eighteen years old, now. And a little voice inside your head wished that you had not played it safe, and explored the choices that you could have made. Alas, you could not change the past. Just learn from the choices you had made.

It was not unusual for Dauntless to send people to patrol the fence. In fact, it was a job that they took pride in, and had many young Dauntless warriors to do so. Every day when you came out to water the seeds, to plant more, to care for the gardens, you would look to the people who patrolled. They were of all kinds – men with long hair, women with shaved heads, people with skin covered in patterns of ink, people with more holes and metal than you’d ever seen in your life. Some days, when you felt brave (and the people who supervised you were not looking) you would approach the patrols, bringing sandwiches wrapped in brown paper, small cups of homemade lemonade.

That was before you saw _him_.

You had to remind yourself that he was just as human as you were, but just looking at him, you could have sworn that he was not. He worked hard, and every time he was standing guard at the perimeter, you would see how the sun glinted from his tattoos, how dedicated he was to his post.

But every time you approached him, to offer food for his service, he turned you down. It was not until your allocated time off, when you inquired to the local Mouthpiece about him that you learned; _Eric Coulter … born into Erudite, transferred the year before you to Dauntless … became a leader at just seventeen_. Now you understood. When you returned home that afternoon, you went straight to your chores, ignoring the guards at the fence, doing your duty. That was all he was doing. All that he needed to do to prove his worth as both a member of the clan, and as a leader.

And you respected that.

It was not until thirty-nine days after that day until you crossed paths with Eric once more. You didn’t know the details, only seeing them from your perspective. But at four thirty on Friday afternoon, you watched as one of the weapons on a Dauntless guard misfired, and shot at another of the members watching the fence. You, an Amity should have cowered, or perhaps gone to any nearby children below Choosing age and hurried them away. But instead, something filled your veins, and powered your bravado, and you ran toward the commotion from where you worked in the field.

Shot in the lower calf, Eric fell to his knees upon the grassy plains of Amity. At once, you tore your yellow jumper from your body, pressing it to the bleeding limb. Not one Dauntless stopped you, instead watching in silence as you staunched the wound.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” you cried out to the surrounding guards, “help me carry him inside, I can help him!”

It was that which woke them up from the trance-like state. At once, they organised to carry him to your home, and frantic, you set to work. Eric squirmed, in pain, yet, not responding to it like a normal wound. His skin grew pale, breathing haggard, irregular. As you opened the medicine keister, he growled, eyes wide and dilated.

“Useless Amity plants can’t heal this,” he spat out.

You chose not to listen to him. From the keister, you pulled out a tube of pure Peace Serum, and adding a needle, inject it into the visible vein in Eric’s neck. “Try to calm down, soldier,” you tell him, pushing the dosage in, “Anger has no part in healing.”

As he relaxes into the injection, the serum affecting him already, you turned to the remaining guards in the room. “Okay, I need you all to wash your hands, I need a belt, and someone to call the Dauntless leaders of what has happened.” You told them.

At once, they got to work, and so did you. While Eric lay, dazed upon your kitchen table, his leg was bleeding. As soon as a belt was given to you, you applied pressure to the mid-thigh, and with the wad of bandages, staunch and flush the wound with saline. You’re no medicine practitioner, only the daughter of one, yet, your hands are steady, and you focus on the job at hand. As you work, you hear Eric muttering, and it isn’t until you touch the edge of the wound with your forceps that you realise he’s still mad.

“Just my luck…” he mumbles.

You chuckle, looking up to him. He might have tattoos, two holes above his eyebrow and a murderous stare, but you’re the one taking care of the guy, and despite your Amity ways, you wish that he’d realise that you’re the one in charge here.

“If you say one more thing, I won’t hesitate to give you a shot to knock you out.” You tell him.

He _harrumphs_. “Pansycake.”

You jab him once more, this time with morphine. With both in his system, he’s out for the count. Within the next hour, you’re gotten word to Dauntless that he is injured, and within four, you have removed the bullet to close off the ruptured artery, and saved the man’s life. In five hours, word returns from the warrior faction that nobody can fetch him, and if treated enough, that he can stay in Amity. You had forgotten that it was a Friday.

Soon, all the guards were returning on the train to their home faction, leaving you with the still inert Eric. It was not that you felt out of your depth – well, you were, but for the first time in your life, you were doing something that was not Amity, that was out of the usual comfort zone of the regular person in your faction.

You sent a message to your parents of the gist of the situation, and settling down for the night alongside the sun which set over the horizon, you began cooking dinner. Sweeping the house, preparing the divan for yourself, and struggling to take Eric to your small bed. Your home was a small place, the only room being the bathroom. It had been all you had needed until now, and having hefted the Dauntless leader upon the mattress made of springs and sheep’s wool, you went to take the broth from the fire.

His hand caught your wrist, holding you back. Heart racing, you turned to see the wounded man’s eyes barely open, yet, they are on yours in the dimly light house.

“Where am I?”

You peel back his fingers one at a time, and move to the soup that was almost prepared. “You are in Amity. One of your own misfired.” You tell him. That’s all you know, so that’s all he’ll get from you. “If you’re going to fight me, I won’t be kind about it.”

He makes a noise. “That isn’t very Amity.”

You ignore him, and serving the dish, you take it to where he lays. “I have a strange, antagonistic Dauntless man laying wounded in my bed. You try being the one stitching you up.” Passing him the soup, you sit beside him at the bedside, perched on a rickety stool, and help him sit up. “Sorry I stabbed you twice with the medicine.”

He huffs. “If you’d been shot, you’d know what it feels like.”

You raise an eyebrow, “I’d hope so,” you retort, and add, “and you were shot in the leg, you don’t need help with that soup.” You sup in silence, eyes growing heavy as the fire beneath the pot grows smaller, the moon above raising itself higher into the sky. When the bowls are dry, and stomachs sated, you busy yourself with the after-meal chores. Cleaning the pot and dishes, tending to the fire, closing the doors, opening the windows to allow for an evening breeze. As you work, you hum a song, but when the melody ends, you talk to your guest. “While you were unconscious, I removed the bullet, and your guards helped. The one who misfired handed his weapon to the next up, I think.” You say. “You’re going to have to stay here for a couple of days, though.”

It’s that which rouses a response from the stoic man. “What? I can’t stay in Amity!”

You shrug, turning to him. “Looks like that’s what’s happening, buddy.” Your smile is tight, “Look, the guy who spoke with me said there isn’t any medical teams available for cross-faction travel, and there’s a celebration going on at your faction –,”

Eric growls. “My name is not buddy!” He protests, “It’s Eric. And I am a leader of Dauntless, and rank above you, Amity!”

You raise a brow. “Yeah, I know. I’m the girl who gives food to your faction members on the fence, who you’ve turned away.” You shake your head, and moving to the candle lit upon the dresser between the pair of you, you say, “Now, Dauntless leader, I’ve had enough for this day. Good night.”


	2. (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eric is a begrudging guest.

When you woke, the sun was not yet fully risen, and you peered over the room to see Eric on the floor. Dressed in only your sleeping clothes, you went over to him, where he lay, and without words, helped him walk to the bathroom in the corner. When he finished, you took your turn, and sliced your own homemade bread and served it with jam made from berries you grew. While Eric ate, seated at the table, you inspected the wound, unwinding your bandages, flushing the area once again with antiseptic and saline. As you did so, you expected a reaction, perhaps a wince or a cuss word.

Nothing.

Wrapping the wound up once more, you cleared your throat. “Okay…either you stay in here and read what books I have, or you come sit in the shade while I work the field.” You tell him, no room for negotiation. He gives no answer by the time you have straightened your back, and you add, “Mr. Dauntless Leader Eric, you might be important where you come from, but here, we are harmonious, and peaceful.”

Eric huffs. “Outside.”

You take a chair from the table out first, and then, help him to walk outside. Positioned in the shade under the awning, and leg elevated upon an empty pail, Eric sits, watching the world. You take your tools, and begin the task of tilling the soil, spreading the mixture of fertile earth and fertiliser into it, and sow the seeds for the crop. It’s springtime now, with the earth ready after winter to produce. By autumn, it would be ready to reap, and sell to the other factions. The sun is hot upon the back of your neck as you work, and as it raises higher into the sky, you make good time, working hard over nearly all the land you have been allocated.

When you break for lunch, serving an assortment of fruits and beans, you sit beside Eric, once again in silence as you eat. When he finishes, you ask about the pain, and he denies feeling any. You shrug, and gathering the dishes, wash those, and resume the chore. But your muscles are sore, and instead of completing the task, you gather your tools, and retreat inside for a cold shower with your lavender soap to scrub the scent of manure from you.

That evening, you are sketching in your book when he speaks.

“I don’t know your name.”

You look up from the graphite illustration. “My name is _________.” You turn your head slightly, curious what brought the need for him to ask that question. When he makes a grunt of acknowledgement, you resume the piece you are working on; you are trying to improve your skill, and practice is the only way to do that.

“You’re a farmer, and you know medicine.” He states, once again puzzling you. Why does he care?

You shrug. “My parents are healers in the main Amity city,” you reply, resuming your sketch. But it nags you that he asked, and you add to your answer, “Why are you asking all of this, I thought you hated me?”

He’s silent for the rest of the night.

* * *

Despite the fact you have a very grumpy, rude man living in your house, your Sunday routine goes undisturbed. In the morning, you rise with the sun, and spend the early hours meditating, collecting stray thoughts and worries from the last week, and moving on from them. You clean the house, taking the rug outside to hang from the mango tree, and beat at it with your broom. Breaking your fast, you share your last loaf of bread and peaches with him, and only stopping your chores to move the injured man from the bed to the divan. It’s then which you begin the truly time-consuming chore: baking bread.

You’re halfway through mixing the dough when the silence within the house is broken. Eric shifts his elevated leg, and asks, “So, no planting today? I didn’t think Amity took days off.”

“We’re the peace-making faction, not the diligent faction,” you retort, the words hot from your lips. You turn, hands sticky with dough, and before you can think, the words tumble out, “It’s not my place, I’m just some Amity, but…” you glance over your shoulder to him, and loose the nerve. “Never mind.”

Eric sits straighter, raising his chin. “You’re the woman who’s healing me after some jackass rookie shot me. Ask your question, you’ve put up with me so far,” he says.

“I was going to ask why you never accepted any of the food I bring to the guards,” you say, and wiping your hands clean, you place a cloth over the mixture, and leaving it in the sunlight upon the bench, sit, and wait for Eric’s reply.

“Is it true your people put serum in the bread?” He asks instead.

“Why do you think I bake my own?” You reply, smiling.

He makes a noise, and you can’t be sure, but there might be a smile on his face. “You’re not like any of the other Amity I’ve met before,” he says, “…you’re lively.”

 “You mean I don’t fit the mould.” You roll your eyes, and admit, “when it was my Choosing Ceremony, I tested positive for Amity. And Dauntless.” You’ve never said the latter before aloud, not even to your parents. “I’m too kind for Dauntless, and too loud for Amity.” Realising how personal your confession was, you stand, and go to busy yourself cleaning things left lying around. “Sorry.”

Eric shakes his head. “I was from Erudite.” He speaks up, and you stand still, silent. “Nobody’s perfect.”

You laugh to yourself. “Don’t let your initiates hear that, Mr. Dauntless Leader.”

In just three days, you’ve made a good friend from a man with a prickly heart. But when he’s gone the next morning, you hear nothing from him, and he never returns to the fence.

Gone.


	3. (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six years later.

For the last six years, you had spent nearly every passing moment thinking of those moments that had happened so fleetingly. But now, you are struggling to keep your thoughts straight. Lined up with the other Amity people, you sit upon your knees in straight rows, quivering in fear. Men and women in Dauntless black clothes hold a new technology in their hands, looking for something they did not say. But it’s dangerous, because every so often, a soldier draws their weapon, and shoots somebody.

You keep your eyes trained upon the straw-covered floor of the main room, hoping whatever they are looking for is not in you. Hoping that these people are rouges, and the true Dauntless soldiers would swoop in and save you all. It was not the way of any faction to kill for the sake of a manifesto, that you knew.

You wished you knew if you’d last the night.

A man enters the room. This you know, because the voice speaking as the footsteps enter the room is deep, and somewhat familiar. Perhaps you have heard this person on a broadcast between factions. Is this a saviour, or an enemy? But despite your curiosity, you dare not look up, and instead close your eyes, hoping the tears that are due to appear do not drip down your cheeks. You are Amity, but you are not a simpering mess. You are _________, farmer, not _________, the girl afraid of death. Perhaps you were. But then again, you thought it would happen at sixty-nine, in bed, and not at gunpoint.

The man beside you, greying at the sides, cradles his daughter close to his side, is next to be screened by the new technology, and hides her face into his side. You do not know where your parents are, or even if they’re still alive.

The machine beeps softly as it passes over her face, and glancing from the floor, you see as the soldier, a woman, reaches for the weapon at her side. A shiny, black gun.

Even if you fear death, you cannot see it happen before you. Especially to a young girl, too young for Choosing. Moving your arms, you push the father and his daughter from the way, and stare at the Dauntless soldier from the shaft of her weapon.

She cocks a smile, and glances over her shoulder, “Coulter, we have a girl who thinks she’s a hero,” she calls out, malice in her tone, mocking. That name is familiar, and you know why, because joining the soldier at her side, is the man who has been in your mind for night after night, ever since you took him into your home. “Her subordination alone deserves a bullet in the skull, don’t you think?”

Your eyes meet his grey ones, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he recognised you. You have not changed much in the time that has passed; your skin has hardened from all the gardenwork, freckles appearing here and there upon your face, hair grown longer. But he does not remark on those things, and does not say that he knows you to the soldier. Instead,

“Stand down, soldier.” He barks, brow furrowed, and placing a hand on the gun, lowers it to her feet. “You’re relieved of your post. Report to Evans.”

She makes no verbal protest, and does as told. The other soldiers continue screening, and raising his own new technology upon the man and daughter, sighs, muttering, “Two percent. _Pfft_.” He passes them, and raises it to your face. You’re unsure of the man before you – he is every part the professional, gruff Dauntless man you nursed back to health six years ago, but where is that sliver of compassion you saw? Did it burn out? Is it still there? “Twelve percent.”

You don’t breathe. He doesn’t move for his gun, doesn’t call to his fellow soldiers of this result. Whatever they’re looking for, it’s in you.

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask him, voice soft.

His thumb moves over the device, and pointing it upon his boot, scans once more. “Zero percent Divergent.” He says loudly, and moves onto the person beside you. Your heart starts to beat once more, and you sink to the floor, relieved.

There he is. Eric the human.

The day passes, and while the rest of the soldiers continue their screening for the Divergent, you are silent, keeping out of trouble. The sun sets into the horizon, and the soldiers return to their faction, leaving the bodies behind for the families to bury. In your memory, this day will rank as the worst, above the day after Eric left you to return to a Dauntless hospital.

You are just happy to be alive.

You return to your home in the fields when the moon has already risen, after working hard to put all the deceased people together, following traditional Amity rites for the passing on of a person. But as you near your home, you see a light visible in the window of your home. You bend over, and grab the nearest stick, and taking it in your hands, you advance toward the place where someone is inside your house. Quietly, you sneak to the door, and crashing through, you attack the intruder, bringing down the stick upon them, beating them like a raccoon.

“_________! It’s me!” Eric stands before you, devoid of his Dauntless uniform. He’s wearing a singlet that reveals the tattoos upon his arms, up his neck. He’s now covered in small cuts and abrasions from your assault, and you drop the stick, sheepish. “I probably deserved that.”

You barely stop to breathe, and propel yourself toward him, wrapping your arms tight around his middle. You want to ask why he never returned to the fence, what happened today, and instead, those tears you held onto so tightly earlier come free, and drip onto his singlet.

“What are you doing here?” you cry, unable to hold back all the fear and emotion you’ve held onto for too long.

His arms slowly wrap around you, “Dauntless is no longer in control of itself, but takes orders from Erudite –,”

You shake your head, “No, in my home! Eric, this – this day has been too long!” you cry, sobbing into his shirt, “I’ve seen so much death, pain…I had to leave halfway through the ceremony, I –,” it all becomes too much for you, and you sink to your knees, falling to the floor.

Eric follows you, his arms still around you, strong. “I keep forgetting Amity’s don’t see war,” he whispers into your hair, crouched down before you, “I thought about you almost every day, and when I came to – I knew you’d fail the exam. But I couldn’t kill you.” He confides.

“L-like I saved you that time,” you sniffle.

Eric nods, a half-smile growing upon his face. His fingers go to your eyes, wiping the tears as they fall. “I came to your home, because I had to see you again. I’ve spent six years training Dauntless children and working politics, unable to come back, and…I was afraid.”

You blink. “Dauntless can’t be afraid. They’re too strong.”

He laughs at that. “Like an Amity whose instinct is to dive before a gun,” he replies, wiping more tears from your eyes, “we’re just not perfect, are we?”

It’s your turn to laugh, and wiping the rest of the tears away, you look to the man before you. “Why are you _really_ here, Eric?” you ask. “Now you saved me, you owe me nothing.”

He stares at you, blank. “_________, I came because I spent six years unable to get you out of my head. Now the world is coming apart at the seams, and I –,” He hesitates. It’s unlike the Dauntless leader his is, unlike the man his has cultivated himself to be, and you wonder what he’s about to say that is too much for him to say all at once.

“Eric…” you whisper. “What do you mean?” He licks his lips, rising from the floor. You watch as he paces, and standing yourself up, you move to the divan, sitting. “Come, sit. Just say it, whatever it is you’re thinking about.”

“It’s…complicated.” He says, pacing.

You raise your chin. “Complicated is having feelings for the man who has been a part of the murder of so many people, and still running into his arms.” You reply, words hot on your tongue. “Sit.”

He sits.

“I love you,” Eric confesses, “I know we barely know each other, but…I’ve never felt this way for anyone in my life before, and I know we can’t –,”

You move forward, and wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you capture his lips with a kiss.

“Don’t think,” you tell him, once you withdraw. “If it’s just for one night, love me. If it’s two, or three, or twenty-seven, love me. If we even survive twenty-seven –,”

He makes a noise, “Don’t say that.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care. Just love me, and I’ll love you.”

Eric nods. “I can do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Buy me [ko-fi](https://www.ko-fi.com/M4M3P4NJ)?
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


End file.
